Tatiana paced in her room like a madwoman.
Her skirts swished against the floor as she walked back and forth, her hands twisting at the fabric until it wrinkled. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her lips tight, her face pale.
She had gone into the corridor with a plan. She wanted to taunt Lydia. She wanted to see her face fall, to see her break, to see her eyes burn with pain. But it had not gone that way. Not at all.
Instead of Lydia being the one cut down, it was Tatiana who had been left burning. Lydia had walked away without flinching, without a twitch in her eye, without a single visible wound. It was as if her taunts meant nothing. As if her words, her very existence, were beneath Lydia.
Tatiana's breath shook with anger. She pressed her hand to her stomach, the lie she had been carrying, the lie that had given her power all this while. But the more she thought of Lydia's calm eyes, the more it felt like her lie was slipping, like it wasn't enough anymore.
